The Red Line
by blackgirlfairy
Summary: Mutual attraction, quiet longing, and burning lust finally come to a head when Michonne gets her hands on the journal of the man who has enraptured her from across the subway train aisle for months. All it takes is a quick peruse of his thoughts to make her determined to turn his naughty fantasies into an even dirtier reality.


**A/N: This one is loosely based off of a prompt I wrote for the We're The Ones Who Write group on Tumblr a little while ago. While that one detailed a fantasy Michonne had involving her and Rick getting busy on a train, this smutty little one shot more closely follows a prompt given to me by the lovely thematsaidwelcome. Make sure you check her and WTOWW out on FF and on Tumblr for tons of Richonne goodness.**

 **As always, I hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

He stood up from his seat and clutched the overhead rail as the train came to a slow stop at the Savin Hill station. Within seconds of the giant vehicle coming to a complete stop, he was out the door and completely out of sight. The only thing Michonne could think of as the doors closed again was how mouth-watering his strong thighs looked while encased in the dark jeans he always wore.

Michonne had seen him for the first time nearly six months ago, right when she first began taking the Red Line. She worked as a public relations manager at a small publishing company housed in Cambridge, Massachusetts but lived across the Charles River in Boston. Every day for years she'd driven her little Volvo back and forth from home to work with the entire commute taking a little over 40 minutes each way. A month or so after Christmas, her car finally kicked the bucket. And while she'd happily purchased a new one, she decided to cut down on fuel costs and keep her miles down by taking the train two times a week.

Every Monday and Thursday she boarded the Red Line at the Central station near work at 6:38 p.m. She always chose the fifth car. Like most of the others, it was old, every light seemed to flicker constantly and over half of the seats were too damaged to sit in. Ultimately, this meant that it was usually pretty sparsely populated. The first time she'd ridden, she blindly chose a seat across from a handsome, intriguing man with dark hair and blue eyes. One look at him and she was gone. Her desire prompting her to choose the same seat in the same car every time just to catch a few glimpses of him on her rides home.

She'd never spoken to him. She didn't know anything about him, not even his name. Once, she'd gotten on the train and heard him having a quiet phone conversation only to be pleasantly surprised by the thick southern lilt to his voice. She was a northerner through and through, so she wasn't able to properly place where the accent might have come from. She still couldn't help but noticed how similar he sounded to the small amount of family she had down south in Macon, Georgia.

She didn't have a name to put to the face, so she'd started calling him 'Savin Hill Hottie' in her head. She deduced that he was a firefighter because of the 'Cambridge Fire Department' shirt and sturdy, worn boots he wore just about every time she saw him. 'Savin Hill Hottie' kept to himself, he didn't wear headphones like most passengers - herself included - but he did have a journal. Michonne wasn't sure whether he was writing or drawing but his little black book kept the majority of his attention during the 30-minute ride into Boston.

Sometimes, Michonne would catch him looking at her. Just the brief meeting of eyes or the feeling of his gaze lingering on her before his pen got to moving again. As much as she wanted to interpret the looks as interest in her, she forced herself to chalk it up to coincidence and curiosity on his part.

The train was ambling down the tracks again before she took another look at the seat across from her where he once sat. Instead of an empty booth, she saw his journal. Square, black, and closed with the help of an attached piece of black elastic. Without a second thought, she reached over and grabbed it, securing it in her lap. As curious as she was, she refrained from opening it. Still, she decided to bring it home with her. She had no idea how often he rode the train but the chances of the journal not being stolen or thrown out before he had the chance to get it back were slim.

Michonne told herself not to read it. She consigned herself not to read it. The entire short walk from the Shawmut train station to her apartment was spent reminding herself of the virtues of privacy and how the 'Savin Hill Hottie' deserved it from her. Still, she thought about the faux-leather bound book during her nightly shower, while she picked over leftover Bolognese, and while she downed her third glass of Rosé.

She finally gave up the act during the 11 o'clock news. Cracking the journal open in the middle of an exposé about school cafeteria food, the first thing Michonne noticed was a date.

 _ **April 24th, 2018.**_

Only a couple weeks after she'd first started taking the Red Line.

The page wasn't fully filled out, not even halfway. But the short paragraph was enough to make her shiver.

 _ **She wore a skirt again. A dark blue one that molded to that gorgeous ass. Not too short, of course. Just above the knee. But every time she shifted in her seat, it rode up a little more. Never enough to see too much of her dark inner thighs or the color of her panties. But more than enough to drive me fucking wild. I wanted to push it up around her hips and dive into her. Better yet, I wanted to rip it off and watch the wild look on her pretty face as I devoured her dripping pussy. There's something about her that tells me she wouldn't mind that shit at all.**_

Michonne's fingers splayed out on her heated chest through her threadbare t-shirt. She skipped a few more pages into the journal, searching for more entries. Shocked when it seemed like the entire thing was filled with passages about her. Sometimes, the entries were detailed fantasies. Other times they were beautifully vulgar little sentences about how she smelled or how her tits looked. Some of the pages were covered in dirty doodles. There were even a few surprisingly well written poems.

 _ **June 7th, 2018.**_

 _ **I wonder what sounds she makes when she's got a dick in the back of her throat. She's got the perfect mouth for fucking. Them lips all full and soft looking. She's worn red lipstick the last three times I've seen her. And every time I lay eyes on that pretty red mouth I think about desecrating it, smearing that makeup all over her face and my dick. Just right there in the middle of the train car where anyone could see.**_

 _ **August 20th, 2018.**_

 _ **Covered in cloth,**_

 _ **Held gently between warm flesh as equally taunting.**_

 _ **The temptation, it sits,**_

 _ **Waiting to be revealed by someone worthy.**_

 _ **It almost waters the mouth.**_

 _ **Just the thought is hardening.**_

 _ **That pretty peach - ripe for plundering.**_

Logically speaking, reading his fantasies should have disgusted her. They probably should have made her concerned and maybe even a little afraid. Instead, she felt nothing but pure arousal surge through her as read his dirtiest, most depraved thoughts.

By the time she got to the last page, she was overcome. Her fingers strayed under her sleep shorts and into her panties. She was already soaked and aching as she dragged her fingers over her clit and into her entrance. Fucking herself quickly and efficiently until she came reading the words he'd written about her.

For the next two and a half days, Michonne was wound tight in a constant state of anticipation. She decided to leave the journal at home instead of bringing it with her while she drove to and from work. But instead of eliminating it as a distraction, it only served to make her more anxious to get home and read it again. By Thursday, Michonne had read every page in the journal twice over. And as she stood on the Central station platform in a red, knee length polka dot dress with a slit down the front and her panties in her purse, she brimmed with excitement.

Her heart pounded as the doors to the fifth train car swiftly slid open. She saw him out of the corner of her eye as she walked in. Instead of scribbling in his journal - the one she had tucked away in her bag - he was staring intently at his phone. Michonne chose her regular seat across from him. Keenly aware of the tight time frame she was acting under, she settled in as soon as the train pulled off. Looking around, she noticed two others in the car, both sleeping soundly with earphones in their ears on the far end of the train.

It took three minutes for him to look up at her. She flashed him a smile, soft and inviting. Then, she reached into her bag and pulled out the journal. His eyes widened quickly before his face settled into something mildly suspicious.

Instead of handing it over to him, she placed it on her lap and opened it up. Like she'd done every other night since Monday she slowly skimmed the pages. She also made herself comfortable, spreading her thighs just a fraction. Her mouth dried a bit as she felt a soft gust of air rush over her bare pussy through the opened slit in her dress. She chanced another peek up at him and saw his eyes glued between her thighs. Michonne wondered if he would see her glistening in the flickering fluorescent lights above them. She wondered if he found her pussy as pretty as he'd imagined it was.

She played with him for a little while longer. Her legs inching open slightly every time she turned to a new page of the 'Savin Hill Hottie's' journal. She was completely keyed up by the time she heard him let out a soft grunt and slide in right next to her on the red bench. He was pressed up close, thighs touching, arms molded together, and his arousing, masculine scent commanding her senses.

Drawing on every ounce of boldness she had in her, Michonne broke their silence first. "You're an incredibly talented writer," she said, her eyes on the page-long description of her legs he'd written in early June.

"Oh yeah?" His voice was deep. The slow lilt of his southern accent flowed deliciously. She wanted to hear it some more. Saying her name, commanding her, retelling all the dirty things he'd written about them.

"Yes," she answered. "Everything you write is so visceral. It almost feels like it's really happening to me when I read it."

She looked over at him just in time to see him lick his pink lips then run a large hand over the salt and pepper stubble on his handsome face. She pushed down the urge to run her tongue along his sharp jaw line. When she turned her head back to the journal in her lap, he moved closer. His breath tickling her ear as he spoke softly, but with intent.

"Do you have a favorite one?"

"I don't think so, there's something special about all of them."

"No?" He chuckled and reached into her lap. He didn't touch her, nor did he grab the journal like she expected him to, he just casually turned a few pages, looking them over. "Nothin' specific, huh? Nothin' that made you sit up a little straighter and squeeze your thighs together? Nothin' that had you puttin' on this pretty little dress, sittin' in this seat, and flashin' me that wet little pussy earlier?"

Her face flushed and she let out a tinkling little chuckle. "Well, there may have been one or two…"

"Show me," he demanded softly.

Michonne hadn't been bold enough to dogear her favorite entries like she would have with a book that was all her own, but she had the page and date memorized. She flipped to it quickly.

While the rest of the journal was written in black ink, this one was red. She wasn't sure why, but the hot, striking color made the short entry even sexier.

 _ **July 26, 2018.**_

 _ **As fucking hot as the thought is, I know it wouldn't be enough just to have her on the train. I'd need to take her home. Spread her out on my kitchen table and taste her there. Bend her over the back of my couch and give her my dick until she's too fucked out to move. Have her work that ass on me in the chair on my balcony. I need the time to take and pleasure her right. Fuck her so thoroughly that, that pussy don't sing for no one but me ever again.**_

He let out a deep humming sound as he looked over what he'd written. "That is a good one," he said. "You were lookin' especially good that day and my thoughts got away from me a little bit."

"That's why it's my favorite. I can see how desperate you were, and it made me feel desperate too."

Michonne could almost see his pupils dilate at her admission. She sat quietly, letting him sit with her words. Leaving the ball in his court.

"And what did you do with that desperation?"

"I could probably show you better than I could tell you," she answered. "Want me to?"

He tilted his head in a short nod. Without any more words, Michonne reached over and placed her right hand on top of his left. Interlocking their fingers, she slowly lifted his hand onto the inside of her thigh, letting both of them feel the warm, supple skin there. Slowly, she inched them closer up her dress until the tips of their digits brushed up against her wet lower lips.

"I started here," Michonne said softly as she urged his fingers along the seam of her pussy, wetting his fingers with her honey. "Just feeling myself a little."

Then, she made them delve a little deeper, through her sensitive folds until they reached her clit, poking bravely out of its little hood. "I paid a lot of attention to this too." She used their fingers to circle her pearl. Round and round and round. The feel of his calloused fingers against her flesh had her biting her lip in an effort not to cry out in pleasure. Before she could make herself come with his fingers, she backed off a bit.

"But I didn't give in fully until I was fucking myself." The teeth in her bottom lip clenched tighter as she slid both of their fingers inside of her pussy. It was only two digits. Hers elegant and thin and his long and a little girthy. She'd had much more than that inside her before, but the sensation of both of them fucking her together made her feel fuller than she ever had.

As soon as his finger was inside her, the man next to her took on more control. He pushed forward and outward, forcing her own finger to move in tandem. The soft sounds of her sloshing juices only made the scene hotter as he curled his finger up towards her g-spot while she circled her clit with her thumb. Michonne didn't last long, canting her hips up just a fraction to fuck their fingers back and leaning her face into her shoulder as she came, gushing on the thrusting appendages.

"Goddamn," he groaned. Michonne looked down into his lap at the sizeable bulge squeezing against the button fly crotch of his black jeans as they both took back their hands.

Michonne was eager to show him just how right he was about the sight of her lips stretched around his cock right there on the train. But before she could, the strain stopped and the speaker announced their arrival at Savin Hill.

"Shit," he cursed again. "This is me."

He stood up, towering over her as she sat, staring down at her with a hungry look on his face. "You feel like takin' another risk?"

Michonne grabbed up the journal and her bag and rushed up off of the bench before grabbing his hand. "Hell yes!"

"I'm Michonne, by the way," she voiced as they exited the train station and strolled eastward down a quiet house-packed street. "Lovely to meet you."

He laughed, his hand tightening in hers. "I'm Rick. It's been a pleasure, Michonne, truly. But it ain't over yet."

"I should hope not," she replied. "I'm not trying to book it home at the end of the night unsatisfied after you got me all worked up with that journal of yours."

"You ain't got to worry about that, Michonne. I plan on satisfying you a few different ways before the night is over."

"Speaking of...I actually want to know more about this couch you want to bend me over."

"See for yourself," Rick said as he stopped them in front of an older duplex. "It's right inside there, waitin' for you to introduce yourself."

She walked into his apartment confidently as soon as he unlocked the door. It was simple but homey and clean. The couch was a black leather monstrosity, the kind that was a little ugly but looked incredibly comfortable at the same time. She ran her hand over the back of it. "Hello, Mr. Couch," she laughed quietly at her own corniness. "We're about to get real acquainted soon."

"Real soon," he spoke as he came up behind her. He lifted her purse from her shoulder and placed it on one of the couch cushions before pressing in closer. Michonne pushed her ass back against his dick, still hard and pulsing in his jeans. Her skin heated as Rick ran his nose along her slender neck. "You smell so goddamn good, girl."

"You smell better." Michonne smiled and turned around to face him, her hands straying to the waist of his pants, unbuckling his belt and popping the buttons along the crotch. "So good, I think I need a taste."

They both looked down as she pulled his dick out of his underwear. She licked her lips at the sight of it, pink and thick. Just as long and weighty in her hand as it would be in her mouth. Rick let her stroke her hand up and down his length a few times before he pulled back a bit.

"You can get your taste later," he said. "Right after I get mine. But I need to fuck you first. I've been wantin' to get in this pussy for so long I can't even stand it."

She was silent as she reached down and lifted her dress off of her body. The thin white bralette she had on followed, leaving her completely bare under his heated gaze. "You don't need to wait any longer," she said.

Still fully clothed, he pulled her closer and kissed her. She felt like she was on fire as their tongues brushed, wetting their lips and making her body sing. His big hands went to her breasts, rubbing softly over her budded nipples before he transitioned to plucking at them. She hissed a little at the welcomed sting, leaning into him more as her pussy flooded.

It was a hell of a first kiss, one Michonne felt like she could have stayed in forever. But as Rick moved away first, breathing heavily as he stared her down and took off his clothes swiftly, she nearly shook from the force of her desire to have him in her.

"Turn around for me, Michonne," he said gruffly.

She had no problem following his command. Widening her stance, she leaned over the back of the black couch in front of her, making sure she was secure before spreading her thighs a bit more. She could hear Rick's breathing deepen as he laid eyes on the dark pink folds between her glistening thighs.

He moved closer, but he didn't touch her yet. "Reach back and open yourself up for me, I want to see you."

Michonne's hands moved to her plump cheeks, spreading them apart before him. "Like that?"

"Just like that," he said. "Fuck, that pussy looks even prettier than it did on the train. All spread out and open for me."

She whimpered when she felt the thick, hot head of his cock run through her lips before he tapped it on her clit a couple of times. He gave no warning before he pushed inside of her.

"Fuck."

"Shit."

Tight, wet, hard. The slick slide of his fat dick in her channel had them both cursing out in pure pleasure. Only a few strokes in and Michonne could tell the man was on his way to fucking her into a new dimension.

Michonne's fingers gripped the chilled leather as he bottomed out in her. He seemed to fill every single previously untouched inch inside of her pussy. Her body seemed perfectly molded to fit his dick, which made it all the easier for her to yield to his thrusts.

Rick's hands moved to her slim hips. His fingers dug into the skin roughly. It caused a jolt of pain but wasn't overly hurtful. Michonne wasn't one to bruise easily but she knew she'd have marks from him in the morning. Her senses on overload, she raised up on her tiptoes a bit and leaned forward, trying to find reprieve. But Rick wouldn't allow it. It was clear he had no intention of allowing her to escape the overwhelming pleasure his dick was providing.

"Uh-uh," he said, leaning down a bit to run wet kisses down her back. "Come on back to me, you don't need to run."

She swallowed harshly and rested back on her feet regularly. The hands on her hips started guiding her, moving her back to meet his thrusts.

"That's right. Work that ass on me, take what you need."

She began moving in earnest, leaning into the pleasure instead of away from it. "Yes," she hissed out after one particularly filling in stroke. "Shit this dick is so fuckin' good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I didn't even know I could be this full. Fucked this good."

She threw her ass back in time with his thrusts. The sound of her cheeks bouncing off his pelvis worked in tandem with their moans and slick, juicy ring of her pussy being well attended to.

"I knew this pussy was goin' to be good," he replied. "But I had no goddamn idea."

The compliment made her gush around him, her honey ran down her thighs in excess. One of her hands strayed from its place on the couch to between her legs. She rubbed over her clit roughly. Humping her ass back at him, she took his dick as they both worked to get her off - just like they had on the train.

"I need to come, Rick," she whispered desperately. "I need to come all over you."

"Do it. Make this pussy come so I can fill it up."

His strokes became harsher, hitting her walls and the sweet spot inside her at a more brutal pace. It only took a few more strokes of his dick and her fingers to make her go off. She contracted around him, squeezing him tightly as he continued to fuck her orgasming pussy until he reached his own peak. Just as he got there, he reached down to gently grasp the front of her neck, forcing her into an upright position as he kissed her once again, his hand clasped on her throat. Filling her with his tongue and his come at the same time.

Michonne let out a small cry as he pulled out of her. Rick surprised her by grabbing her around her waist and pulling them both down onto the carpet below them. They looked at each other, panting and smiling. Michonne could still sense the phantom feeling of his dick as she reached down between her legs. She slid a couple of fingers into herself, just enough to coat her digits into the cream he'd left inside her.

"Mmm," she moaned as she rubbed it on her lips and chased it with her tongue. "I told you I was going to get a taste of you."

Rick rolled over until he was half on top of her then bit into the skin on her shoulder. "You tryin' to kill me, Train Girl?"

"Train Girl?" She asked.

"Yeah," Rick's fingers traced around her flat belly button. "It's what I've been callin' you in my head."

Michonne laughed. "You mean to tell me, you've got a whole journal full of the dirtiest, most creative sexual fantasies I've ever read, but the best nickname you could come up for me was Train Girl? Even I was more creative than that."

"Oh, I'm dyin' to hear it now," he said dryly.

"Savin Hill Hottie," she said with a teasing smirk. "Because of your stop."

He repeated it, saying it a couple of times, letting it mull over on his tongue. "Not bad. Definitely not great, but it sure ain't bad."

"Better than Train Girl, though."

"Maybe, but I've got your real name now, so I don't have to use it anymore."

She kissed him, just a quick peck on the lips. She wasn't sure what to do. As much as she wanted to lie there with him until they both caught their breath enough to go for another round, she wasn't sure he felt the same. She reached over to her left and picked up the dress she'd discarded only to be stopped by Rick's strong fingers interlocking with hers.

"Don't leave," he said. "I ain't ready to let you go yet."

Michonne nodded, a small genuine smile gracing her face. "That's alright. We've got a whole lot of things to try out anyway."


End file.
